Cold Comfort
by an-alternate-world
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 2 (Wet T-Shirt Contest). The New Directions have a car washing fundraiser to help pay their way to Regionals after the Warblers get kicked out. And if it just so happens that a particular former-Warbler needs his car washed by another former-Warbler, well.. That just makes for some interesting conversation, right?


**Title: **Cold Comfort  
**Author: **an-alternate-world**  
Rating:** K+  
**Characters/Pairing: **Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe**  
Word Count: **4,184**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 2 (Wet T-Shirt Contest). The New Directions have a car washing fundraiser to help pay their way to Regionals after the Warblers get kicked out. And if it just so happens that a particular former-Warbler needs his car washed by another former-Warbler, well.. That just makes for some interesting conversation, right?**  
Warnings/Spoilers: **None!**  
Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

* * *

It's the latest in a string of bad fundraising decisions which Blaine blames wholeheartedly on Finn Hudson and Sam Evans. The calendar had been an atrocious disaster, but this?

_This_?

Blaine can't help but be reminded of the argument he'd once had with Sam, about how the New Directions dance moves lacked class. It had very nearly come to blows and though Blaine can't entirely remember _why_ he'd been so irate – because he wasn't one to get violently hot-headed over _dancing_ – he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the New Directions have never really known what _class _is.

After all, they wouldn't be out here washing cars during Spring Break when the weather is still too chilly to be comfortable if they knew how to do a fundraising drive which _wasn't_ a horrible 90s movie cliché.

"Oi, Blaine!" Sam flings a rag at him which unexpectedly smacks his shoulder and makes him flail in surprise. He ends up knocking over the bucket of water he'd been using to polish this particular Cruze's hubcabs and it soaks through the lower half of his pants as well as his shoes. "Dude… Sorry."

Blaine sighs and wiggles his toes in the squelchy shoes. He'd been oscillating between damp and soaked all day so it really didn't matter anymore, but the afternoon was starting to chill down. Not to mention that even if he hadn't worn expensive clothes, getting greasy car water was never a good mix. "It's fine, Sam. What's up?"

"There's a particularly pushy customer demanding you, and you alone, wash his car." Sam shifts on his feet uncomfortably and glances over his shoulder. It's so unusual to see Sam fidgeting that Blaine's first thought is _Kurt_ and it makes something tighten in his throat. He's not sure he can face Kurt right now because they can't communicate without a fight and- "So uh… Yeah…" Sam interrupts his panicked thought process, gesturing towards a black Audi with tinted windows and Blaine immediately knows that's not Kurt's car. He's _very_ acquainted with Kurt's Navigator.

"Fine," he huffs, picking up his bucket to refill with tap water and soap mixture and then marching over to the car. Once he's close enough, he realises that it's not even particularly dirty and he feels qualified to say that because he's _seen_ filthy cars today. It's like having a car wash has meant people have unearthed cars from dirt pies that haven't been washed in a decade.

He's confused when he sees that the car isn't occupied and the customer is nowhere to be seen, although he isn't actually sure who he's looking for. It could be some perv who just wants to see _him_ draped all over a car, which had happened to Marley earlier. He glances around suspiciously, wondering who the hell has demanded that this is _his_ job to do, but all he can see are his New Directions friends loitering around with buckets and sponges. Marley and Jake are flinging water at each other. Kitty is making coffee because, "These nails don't do something as trashy as wash _cars_" while Unique is tottering around on ridiculously high heels collecting money from those getting their cars washed.

With a sigh, he starts hosing down the car and throwing some soapy mixture on top. He's pretty sure he won't be able to move for at least a week and that he's used muscles today that he'd long forgotten he had. Actually, scratch that. He's not even sure some of his sore muscles even existed before today. Between Schue's bootcamp and his own fitness regime of boxing and running, he's never had a full-body workout the same way he's had from washing a mind-numbing amount of disgusting cars for some spare change.

The worst part about being surrounded by so much water is his inability to use an electronic device for music. In an attempt to keep some semblance of sanity, he starts humming to himself while he scrubs his way down one side of the car when he hears a whistle behind him. He pauses and turns, unable to hide his grimace as Sebastian Smythe strolls closer. He looks too carefree in a long-sleeve, pale blue V-neck shirt and tight jeans that leave little to the imagination about his ridiculously long, thin legs.

"Well, well, I might just pay extra for the view," Sebastian muses as he raises his coffee cup in acknowledgement of Blaine's troubles. "By all means, don't stop now."

It takes him a beat too long to put together the pieces but then something white hot roars through him and he flat out _refuses_ to keep doing this. "This is _your_ car?" He tosses the sponge in the bucket and folds his arms over his chest. He has _zero_ intention of washing it now and even some fast talking won't convince him that it's worth plastering himself over Sebastian's car for the other's enjoyment. He can only imagine what Sebastian will jerk himself off to tonight if he does.

"Is that a problem?" Sebastian's eyebrow raises, his grin bordering on predatory, and Blaine is acutely aware that his back is against the car and Sebastian is sauntering a little too close for comfort. "Because a little birdy told me that you rather _liked_ feeling people up in cars."

Blaine gapes at Sebastian, his mind scrambling to accept the information and having absolutely _no _idea how he could _ever_ have heard that because the only people that know are Kurt because he was there and–

_Nick_.

Blaine's going to _kill_ him.

_And_ maybe forward some of those distraught emails his friend has sent while he laments his struggle of loving Jeff from afar for the past four years.

"People don't speak the truth when they're drunk," he scowls, because that's the _only_ way he might forgive Nick for his stupidly big mouth exposing stupidly big secrets to a stupidly big flirt like Sebastian.

Even then, Blaine's pretty sure Nick's head would look good on a stick.

He tries to straighten himself up, tries to look more burly and defensive, but it's probably a comedic effort when Sebastian's a head taller than him and his shoulders are several inches wider. Blaine's strong but he's a "compact pocket-rocket" as Brittany had once mused while patting his cheek. Sebastian's a star lacrosse player with long limbs and an even longer list of innuendos.

"Oh?" Sebastian inclines his head and that smirk Blaine is too familiar with spreads slowly across his face. He wants to smack it away because he knows he's unintentionally set himself up to concede to what Nick has exposed, drunk or not. "So you're denying the little birdy's words?"

Blaine holds the stare for as long as he can, but then he blinks, glances away for just a moment when his composure falters.

Sebastian's grin is ridiculously triumphant and Blaine knows he's lost.

He's _definitely_ going to kill Nick.

"Well hey, I have a great backseat and you have a great backside so-"

"I thought you were turning over a new leaf?" he interrupts, his face flushing red before he can stop it as he pushes Sebastian out of his space to grab his bucket and hose and move to another car. He doesn't care if Sebastian gives the car wash a bad rap on his stupid Facebook page. He doesn't care if they don't get paid for the job. It's clear to him that Sebastian isn't here for the car wash anyway.

Sebastian grabs his wrist and it forces him to stop in his attempt to storm away. Water sloshes over the edge of the bucket at the abrupt halt but any extra water on his shoes is hardly going to get noticed after Sam startling him.

"I did, but then the leaf withered a bit because being nice was hard." Sebastian lets his hand go to shrug, raising his coffee cup for a sip.

It's only then that Blaine realises it's not the generic coffee cup that Kitty has been using and figures that must be why Sebastian wasn't around. For someone all about quick hook-ups and no-strings pleasure, it almost amuses Blaine that Sebastian had gone down the road for something that was a decent cup of coffee rather that the instant crap Kitty's been serving.

"Clearly the best attempts didn't work out for any of us this year anyway."

And there it is, as good as a signed confession that Sebastian had known about the drug use all along. He stiffens, one hand on the hose and one hand on the bucket. This whole car wash fiasco was purely to raise money for Regionals after Principal Sylvester had cut their funding when they'd lost Sectionals.

"Why'd you do it?" he asks, looking down at the ground as he tries to accept that it's really true. His friends, his former teammates, had been embroiled in a drug scandal. He'd struggled to respond to messages from Nick, Jeff, Trent and Thad for weeks because he didn't know who _had_ been involved and who hadn't. Trent had gotten kicked out of the group for refusing to take any of the steroids, so Blaine had been left to accept that anyone in the group had been taking them. And it _hurt_ and it was impossible to believe or accept. Sam was over the moon that they were back in the competition, but to Blaine… To Blaine, these were some of his closest friends, who had seen him at his most vulnerable after he'd transferred nursing a broken wrist and jumping at shadows.

The denial had been going on a month, but it was starting to crumble in light of Sebastian's confession.

"That was all Clarington," Sebastian explains, almost dismissively, raising one hand in some sort of surrender. "He was a psycho who ruled through a hell of a lot of fear."

"And what did you rule through?" Blaine raises his head, glaring at Sebastian because from what he's heard, Sebastian's leadership wasn't a picnic either. "No one stopped you doing things like trying to blind me."

It snaps out of him faster than he'd expected. They'd talked about this during the summer – briefly – and Blaine had forgiven Sebastian a while ago, but when he looks at the other boy, he can tell that his sharp words opened up an old wound.

"You know I'm not proud of what happened last year," Sebastian says slowly, his voice softening as he looks towards where the other New Directions members are probably watching this entire exchange because they're as nosy as the Warblers. Blaine just hopes no one is recording this and sending it to Kurt because he's pretty sure any reconciliation would be off the table.

"That doesn't erase what happened." He grits his teeth and tries to ignore that there's a swirling in his stomach that he knows is usually the precursor to breaking down in tears. This past year has been a nauseating rollercoaster with a deliberate descent into Hell and he doesn't need Sebastian here to remind him of what had happened before that.

"No, it doesn't," Sebastian agrees. He places his coffee cup on the top of his car and takes half a step towards Blaine. "I know it mightn't mean much, but I didn't let him inject me with anything."

His shoulders tense. So what if Sebastian hadn't abused the same drugs that Nick had, that Jeff had? His closest friends had totally thrown away their opportunities at top colleges because of a show choir competition that had clearly gotten completely out of hand. Maybe part of his denial stemmed from not knowing whether he was mad at his friends or mad about the whole stupid situation that had gotten them there. Maybe, deep down, he was mad at himself for leaving the Warblers at the beginning of his Junior year because of Kurt which had led to their slow implosion.

"You're right," he says, his hands shaking with hurt or rage or the chill left behind after the sun disappears behind a cloud. "It's pretty cold comfort."

Sebastian nods, regarding him carefully before he turns back to his car. It doesn't matter that it's still half-wet, barely washed and, in some places, still has soap bubbles clinging to it. Sebastian's evidently done with the conversation and, maybe, done with their entire attempt at a rekindling a friendship when Blaine had truly believed Sebastian was turning over a new leaf.

Sure, Blaine's been physically injured and emotionally bruised by this friendship. He's endured at Sebastian's hands and words because that's sort of what he does – accepts whatever gets said with a bright show face and then he gets on with everything. He broke up with Kurt and everyone just expected him to bounce back, probably because it was _he_ who had caused the break-up in the first place. Only Finn had really seen him start to break down and pulled him back from transferring back to Dalton – and sometimes he wonders if he would have ended up getting injections too.

Now though, after the latest encounter with Kurt at Schue's failed wedding in February, Blaine's become increasingly twisted into a tumultuous wreck that he barely recognises. He doesn't know who he is or what he's doing. He doesn't understand the _how_ or the _why_ anymore. He rarely speaks up in class because he's concerned none of his words are in the right language for anyone to understand.

It's like he's been vinegar for a while, souring to the point of decay on the inside, and Sebastian's just unknowingly added the bi-carb and he fizzles to the point of exploding.

"Hey, Seb!"

Sebastian starts to turn, and Blaine would _never_ be able to tell you why but he tosses the bucket of water at the other boy. It's like everything slows as Sebastian turns, his eyes opening and his lips forming around the question as his gaze meets Blaine's.

And then the first droplet of water splashes against his side and it speeds up until Sebastian's shirt is totally drenched and he's standing in a rapidly-forming puddle.

"You- I- What the _hell_, Blaine?" Sebastian splutters, shaking his hands and hair before he tries to wring the water from his shirt.

He can hear Sam and Finn whooping and high-fiving and wonders if there'd been a bet going. Knowing those two, he wouldn't put it past them.

"I thought I'd share the cold comfort around," he deadpans, discarding the empty bucket and waving the hose in front of him.

Sebastian's eyes widen, his hands crossing over his chest defensively. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" He looks down at the hose and figures no, he probably wouldn't, but Sebastian doesn't need to know that. Turning the hose on someone mid-spring has a bit too much malice behind it, even for him. It's far more Sebastian's style, so perhaps Blaine is just glad he has hold of the hose.

"Jesus _Christ_, Blaine." Sebastian's exasperated sigh draws his attention back and he gets distracted for a moment or four when the wet shirt Sebastian is wearing has begun to stick to his rather well-defined torso.

Well.

That was an unexpected benefit of a spur-of-the-moment (probably stupid) decision.

His throat dries and he has to cough a few times to try to dislodge whatever seems to be stuck in it. "Um… There's towels in the locker room," Blaine mutters, running a hand over his hair and glancing towards Sam and Finn. Neither of them are looking at him now, but Kitty's watching him with a curious expression. "_I'll explain later_," he mouths and grabs at Sebastian's wrist to start pulling the boy behind him.

"_Now_ what are you going to do? Dunk my head in a bucket of greasy water?"

"That's an excellent idea. Would you hold still a moment?" he retorts, biting his bottom lip so he doesn't smile when he hears Sebastian snort in amusement behind him.

He drags Sebastian through the side entrance into the locker room where a pile of freshly laundered towels that Ryder and Schue had organised sit on one of the benches. Sebastian crows in victory when Blaine tosses him one and picks up another to drape around his own shoulders because the chill of the locker rooms is worse than standing in the cool sun/shade combination they've had today.

Sebastian sits on the bench and towels at his damp hair and then his shirt. It's horribly distracting. Blaine finds he needs to start counting to a hundred just to keep his mind from racing away in inappropriate directions.

"So I _might_ have used the car wash as an excuse to see you," Sebastian says, his words slightly muffled by the towel he's dragging across his face and then down his chest again.

Blaine's eyebrows rise towards his hairline. "You needed an excuse?"

Sebastian pauses and looks up at Blaine, something uncertain in his eyes that Blaine isn't used to seeing. "Would you have answered my call?"

He sighs and glances away. He's sure a lot of the Warblers have discussed his distance from them in the past couple of months while he's struggled to churn through all the complications his life keeps throwing at him. "Fair enough. You've seen me. You got a look at my ass. You can leave happy now. Have a nice day."

"Blaine…" The towel hangs off Sebastian's shoulders as he rises quickly and grabs at Blaine's wrist again. He's not fast enough to get out of the way before his back settles against a row of lockers.

Something wobbles inside him because this is too familiar to a story Kurt once told him.

"Look, I just wanted to apologise," Sebastian says, dropping his wrist like Blaine's burned his hand or something. He can't decide if he misses the touch or wants more of it, but at least he doesn't feel quite so panicked at being crowded against something he can't escape from. He's more than capable of fighting his way out of a corner. "I really _was_ trying to be better this year and instead it just feels like we screwed up even worse."

Blaine stares at Sebastian, muddling his way through the apology because it actually sounds as though he's being sincere and Blaine isn't sure what he's meant to do with it. So he turns it around on Sebastian. "What is it you want me to say?"

"I don't want you to say anything. I just…" Sebastian runs a hand through his hair and tosses the towel at the enormous hamper in the corner with a throw that makes Blaine suspect he has plenty of practice after lacrosse games. Sebastian's eyes turn on him again, scrutinising him like he's an exceptionally interesting bug under a microscope. "Are you happy?"

Blaine blinks rapidly at the words, his fingers curling into the towel around his chest because it's a question that totally blindsides him. "What does-"

"You didn't want to transfer back to Dalton."

Oh.

"And I respect that, though it might surprise you." Sebastian smiles wryly and takes a step back and it's like oxygen can finally rush into his lungs again because he no longer feels so threatened. "But we all knew you weren't happy when you stopped by and I know I don't deserve to know or anything but-"

"Happiness can be fleeting," he murmurs, interrupting what he thinks might be Sebastian babbling. It's sort of adorable and sort of disturbing. "I'll be finished here in a few months and then I'll…" He falters, because he doesn't really know what he'll be doing. Everything with Kurt is up in the air and yet he also thinks that maybe that ship has sailed for good. He knows Kurt has been seeing someone off and on in New York and he doesn't want to compete with that.

He looks down, his eyes catching on the shirt which is still damp and clinging to Sebastian's skin. He doesn't want to be caught staring and yet it's hard not to wonder what the tight lines of his abdomen would feel like beneath the pads of his fingertips.

"Wherever you go, whatever you do, don't let anyone dictate your right to be happy, Killer." Sebastian brushes an unexpected hand to his shoulder and Blaine reaches for it, holds onto it, before he's fully processed the decision he's made. It's large and warm and steady, reminding Blaine of just how much he likes to hold the hands of others but hasn't dared since he slept with Eli. Everything he touches tends to shatter but he knows Sebastian, lots of late night text conversations had offered him an insight into the soul of someone that Kurt had repeatedly sworn didn't, couldn't, have a soul.

"I broke his heart," he mumbles as Sebastian steps cautiously closer, adjusting his hand until their fingers are loosely interlocked.

"And that means you can't be happy again?"

"No, it just… I _cheated_, Seb," he explains, trying to ignore how he trembles when Sebastian tilts his chin up and their eyes have to meet. It's something he's not proud of, something he'll hold too close and hurt too much over for many years He swallows the lump in his throat but his voice is still husky as he adds, "It makes me a horrible person."

"Sorry Killer, but I've had that market cornered for a few years now," Sebastian teases, his eyes flashing with amusement, as his thumb skims along Blaine's jaw.

"Seb-"

"You'll be happy again," Sebastian says, as if he's a clairvoyant. Blaine doesn't doubt he'll be happy again but he's pretty sick of feeling like he spends so many of his days clawing his way out of a dark pit. "You know, I always said you were too good for him."

"That's _so_ not the point."

Sebastian smiles, something almost painfully honest, more real than Blaine's ever seen in person. His breath catches in his chest because it's a piece of the boy he'd seen before, late at night when they Skyped once and Sebastian was too tired to filter his words and cover up the innuendos with a smirk. It had probably been around the time that Blaine had begun to feel a little too warm when he got a message from Sebastian, blushed a little too much when he opened the text up, focused a little less on giving his entire heart to the relationship with Kurt.

This time, his heart gives a traitorous flutter for an entirely different reason and he knows he's _screwed_.

"Be strong, Blaine," Sebastian murmurs, squeezing Blaine's hand gently before he pulls away suddenly and heads for the door leading outside. Blaine feels chilled again but he watches Sebastian stop, his hand on the frame before he glances over his shoulder. "By the way, wet clothes are a good look on you."

Blaine squawks in indignation and Sebastian's laugh echoes around the locker room long after he's gone. Probably long after he's driven away too. Of course Sebastian has to have the last word that leaves him feeling like a…a bashful schoolboy all over again. The way Sebastian's lips had formed the "_Super hot_" compliment still makes him want to claw his blushing cheeks off.

With shaking hands and a shy smile that definitely means his cheeks are stained red, he takes out his phone and fumbles with some of the characters for a while, searching for the right thing to say. Sometimes the best thing to do was to throw Sebastian's words right back at him.

'_Wet clothes aren't such a bad look on you either._'

Despite the fact he'd deleted the number at Kurt's request a year ago, it's a series of digits he'd memorised long ago. Just like Kurt's, he suspects this number might get imprinted in his memory for the rest of his life.

In an attempt to distract himself from the image of Sebastian with a wet shirt sticking to his skin, he returns to washing the handful of cars that are left with the other guys and refuses to explain why he tossed a bucket of water at Sebastian _or_ what happened in the locker room. He has a feeling Sam is itching to know if they kissed because he keeps casting these side-long glances across the tops of the cars they wash together so the first chance he gets, he ditches his bucket, jumps in his car and races home.

It's only later, after he's had a hot shower to try unknotting some of his aching muscles – which may or may not have taken a bit longer than usual after Blaine remembered what Sebastian's abs looked like – that he looks at his phone to check what the time is.

He ends up dropping his phone to the floor. Even if the screen is shattered (it turns out it wasn't), he knows he'd remember those words just like he remembers the number he sent them to.

'_Guess what?_ _I look even *better* without clothes, Killer ;)_'

Oh yes.

He's _definitely_ screwed.

* * *

_**~FIN~**_


End file.
